


Lie Cold, Consent

by Amarissia



Category: Death Note
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 18:32:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1195218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amarissia/pseuds/Amarissia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A moment of humanity from Near, that's all Mello wants. Graphic M, underage, non-con sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lie Cold, Consent

**LIE COLD, CONSENT**

Not every place in Whammy's House had a specific purpose. There were the school rooms, the large dining area, the bustling kitchens, the endless corridors of bedrooms. But it was the vaguer spaces Near preferred, the corners everyone else neglected, the dusty air that spoke of solitude. This particular third floor room had once been some sort of study before falling into disuse, and the louder, more social orphans avoided it. There was nothing here but untouched shelves of outdated volumes, furniture battered by years of wear, and long curtains with lace yellowed and stiff. In an establishment of bestowed names, no one had bothered to give this place one. 

Near liked this room - that is, he felt nothing overtly positive or negative about it but found himself constantly returning nonetheless. In mid-afternoon, while the other children grouped together or studied, Near sat on the sun-drenched, worn-smooth floorboards and built intricate temples or cities with blocks or matchsticks, or made ornate domino patterns full of mathematical secrets that were clear only to him. Or, like today, he worked on a puzzle. Roger brought him the most challenging he could find, usually 2,000 pieces or more, but whatever the complexity, Near always assembled the puzzle upside-down, with the shiny white or cardboard brown facing up. He didn't do this to show off, or even just because he could...in truth, there was nothing to gain from piecing together a garden scene or the Taj Mahal. But in the finished blankness, there was _something_. Something even Near didn't quite understand yet, and such things were too rare. 

And people wondered why he showed no surprise at anything they said, why he took no pride in being thirteen and beyond the skill of the Whammy's House tutors. 

The underside-overside of this particular puzzle was a marble-smooth, polished white, and in the moonlight that stretched through the window it showed faint reflections of Near's surroundings - a corner of the bookshelves, a side of the dusty desk. If he leaned over the growing rectangle of interlocking, unintentional mirrors, he could even see himself, though he saw no reason to do so. There was nothing to look for in the snow-white face that evoked either an angel or a ghost, depending on who observed him. Nothing in the pale coral lips or the eyes that shone like wet river pebbles...though Near had wondered before if there was anything in them, anything in the too-big clothes and L-like slouch that even Near was unaware of thus far. 

Mello made no effort to soften or disguise his footsteps down the empty hallway to the room without a name. Near would know anyway, it was a trait of his that verged on the paranormal and even frightened the dimmer students of Whammy's House. Idiots, Mello thought derisively. Near committed a million things to memory, why not the sound of everyone who had ever approached him? 

Mello was Near's closest rival, and had somehow ended up being labeled Near's friend, all because he felt compelled to defend and protect the strange boy. No one but Mello was allowed to harm or challenge Near, no one could taint the fair victory Mello would have over him. That was hardly a friendship - it was more like possession. And to top it off, Near - who had probably never intentionally done an unkind thing in his life - was so damn infuriating. If shunned by most of the students, the boy was a sort of pet to the staff, no matter how many times he ignored their cooing and coddling. Even the great L, during a rare visit, had sat with Near and spoken to him in numbers like a shared private language. 

More than anything, it was Near's lack of emotion that infuriated Mello. What did being the next L mean to Near? It was wasted on him, like every spontaneous kind gesture Mello made, like Roger's and Watari's paternal affection, like everything! Lately Mello had, in desperation, found himself reduced to acts of what some would term cruelty in an effort to dig _some_ humanity out of Near, something he could bring to the surface and compete with. He entered the unnamed room now, ready to continue, anticipating this with pleasure as he did every time. 

Near continued with his puzzle as Mello sat down on his knees behind him, much closer than Near preferred people to be. He disliked this game of Mello's and didn't understand it, but to acknowledge this, to fight, would be to admit defeat. Better to ignore the fingers that began to play with his white hair, and the warm breath that hovered by his ear. 

"Near," the teasing voice called, looking for something more than a simple "What?" in response. Near had tried it and variations of it before, all to avoid the next step, which appeared to be inevitable. Hands slipped beneath his baggy white shirt, caressing his sides first, then the stomach, and upward. This time, the hands withdrew just long enough to return with wet fingertips, to circle the boy's pale nipples slowly until they puffed and firmed and felt strange beneath the cotton garment. 

Mello's breathing had become heavier now, and his palms rubbed against the erect little nubs as though he were cupping the breasts of a young woman. But there was nothing feminine about Near, despite his delicacy and softness and long-lashed prettiness, and nothing human either, it would seem. His small body tensed and made slight shifts of discomfort, but his toy still held his attention. Near's nimble fingers hardly fumbled as Mello pushed his collar aside and latched his mouth to the boy's neck, sucking gently at the slightly quickened pulse. 

A few moments passed, then Mello's damp lips left their place and ascended to brush against the left ear. "Feel something, will you?" he said, each successive word more forceful. "That's all you need to do." 

"I don't understand," Near murmured, words he never used except in connection to emotions. Mello was led by his feelings, was that why he hated Near's cool, unfaltering logic? 

"I'll make you, then. Don't worry," Mello spat, with the sudden anger he was known for. "Just play with your damn toy." 

His hands were moving faster now beneath the white shirt, groping the slender adolescent body with alternating care and roughness. It was like a physical manifestation of Mello's behavior, cruel one moment and protective the next. Was Mello looking for something, as he shifted the cotton fabric to get his rougher fingers over every smooth inch? 

As Mello's anger faded again, his touches became purely sensual - something that Near had no way of recognizing. The boy only knew that this was not like Watari's approving pats on the head or the occasional squeezes he endured from the House's older girls. Near had never been touched this way before, but he knew already that he wanted it to stop. 

"Mello." 

"What, Near?" The question had a hint of laughter in it. 

"I'm busy." 

"You don't have to do anything. I told you." 

"What are you doing?" A long, telling pause. "Do you refuse to answer because you don't know, or because you don't wish to tell me?" 

"Because you wouldn't understand. I'm not something you can figure out, Near. You can't predict me." 

"I know you won't stop if I ask you to," Near said quietly. 

"Fair enough," Mello laughed, unbuttoning the billowing white shirt. "Good. Now just be good." 

"Mello..." 

No other words would come as the garment, the oversized protection, was taken off and put aside. Near wasn't cold, and he wasn't exactly embarrassed to be bared this way, because rationally, there was nothing shameful or sinful about being half-nude. Far more disturbing was the greater access Mello had now, his chest pressed to Near's white back, towering over him from behind, and the hands tracing his flat belly before wetting the nipples again. Worse, Mello was drawing him back, making it harder to lean over the puzzle. 

"Mello," Near tried again, but his cold voice shook a little. 

"You're so small and soft," Mello murmured. "Are you small everywhere? I'm bigger, I know I am." 

"I don't know what you - " 

"You're such a child." Palms and fingers grasped at Near's narrow hips and pushed something against the seat of his jeans. It was warm and stiff and for some reason, Near couldn't process what his anatomical knowledge told him it must be. "Mmm, yeah...you feel good. I bet you've never even touched your own." 

A tongue tracing the line of his jugular up into an ear couldn't distract Near from his jeans being unfastened. He gasped almost without sound as they were slowly edged down. Mello yanked him up roughly to push the pants and underwear to his knees, but once Near had slumped down again and begun to shrink like a wilting flower, the hands went gentle again, trying to spread him out. 

"I knew it, I knew you would be soft and white all over." Mello traced the bones that curved down toward Near's groin, then stroked the bare and narrow inner thighs. "Take it in your hand. C'mon, offer it to me." 

"No, Mello - " 

The hand cupped and lifted, and the hairless flesh nearly disappeared in Mello's grip. He was rolling it like clay or a water balloon in his fingers and palm, and with his other hand the blond grabbed the cuffs of Near's jeans one at a time and yanked harshly. Once he had the pants off and tossed aside, Mello went for the plain white boxer-briefs that dangled uselessly below Near's shaking knees. 

But these he took his time with, drawing them down in a rhythmic, almost teasing fashion. When they were free Mello didn't throw them, but instead put them between his hand and Near's soft penis, and continued stroking him through the thin cloth. 

"C'mon," Mello murmured in an oddly patient voice. "You're old enough. Get hard." 

It may have been no more than willpower, considering Mello's certainty, that kept Near able to disobey. The boy was breathing as shallowly as one can and yet remain conscious, his mouth hanging slightly ajar like he was about to scream or gasp. Near did neither, only silently breathed and blinked and grasped one puzzle piece after another like lifelines. He put them in the correct spot, on the first try, every time. Another wave of fury rippled through Mello and he grabbed the boy's wrist, twisted it until the piece was dropped, and pulled the struggling arm away from the toy. 

_Now_ Near showed a little panic, emitting low, almost droning, closed-mouth screams, little bursts of the hysteria that interrupting his work caused if it was done so suddenly or forcefully. Mello snickered, a triumphant sound, and yanked the boy's body onto his lap, restraining him easily with one arm and getting so damn _hard_ from all of this. 

"Be quiet. What if someone hears you, hmm? Do you want them all to come in and see how weak you are? Or maybe they won't think it's weakness. Maybe you like this, huh? They'll think you want it, and everyone will be touching you from now on. Why do you think Roger works here when he's so clueless with kids?" Mello's voice eased into an oddly soothing tone, his curled hand continuing the gentle and useless strokes. "I've heard things. He likes pretty boys. One hint to him from me, and no more alone-time, Near. He'll know he could do anything and you wouldn't say a damn thing." 

The intermittent, humming yelps grew louder and louder, and though their location was isolated, Mello realized they would need to be quieter. "Ssh, stop that and listen. Be good and I won't let anyone hurt you. I'll keep protecting you. That's it, there's no point in making noise. This is just between us." 

"What do you want?" 

"Cooperation would be too much, I'm sure, so I'll settle for you not fighting. Just relax." 

"Please go away." 

"That what you want? Well, if I go away..." Mello grabbed one of the larger puzzle pieces and shoved it in his back pocket. "Then I'm taking this." 

No noise this time, but Near's shoulders slumped like his soul itself was deflating in defeat. A single tear rolled quickly off his porcelain face and splashed Mello's forearm, and he could feel the boy's heart beating as rapidly as a baby bird's. Perhaps this bothered Mello most of all, that he was not immune to the tenderness Near brought out in people. 

"Ssh, I'll give it back, I promise." Confident that there would be no more fighting, Mello now had a hand free to tilt Near's head back onto his own shoulder, exposing a slender, flawless expanse of shoulder and neck to kiss and gently suckle at. "Be good for me and you'll get it back when I'm done." 

Mello was well-experienced in this sort of playing with other (willing) partners at the orphanage, and with even the most fumbling and nervous, every one had eventually been relaxed by one kind of touch or another. It wasn't working with Near, he refused to be soothed no matter how gentle Mello was, no matter how he rocked the boy and whispered promises that he wouldn't do anything that would hurt. 

The thirteen-year-old had stopped fighting, but his surrender would not be complete until he untensed and allowed himself to feel pleasure. The organ in Mello's hand remained soft, and the china-doll body on his lap felt like a bow string pulled taut. 

What the hell was wrong? Near didn't welcome any human contact, but it didn't make him panic. Could someone have hurt him to make him hate intimate touches? _If anyone did, I'll kill them_ , Mello thought furiously, and decided to ask. He would feel bad if correct about this, but admitted to himself that he wouldn't stop either way. 

"Near, ssh." Mello paused his stroking and exploring to wrap his arms around the boy in a way that was meant to be comforting. "Has someone else done this to you?" 

Near's breathing didn't jump or change speed as he shook his head. 

"Tell me the truth. I won't tell anyone." The same response, movement that brushed the hair like white satin against Mello's chin. "I'm the first to touch here, and here? Are you sure?" 

"As far as I can remember," Near whispered. He wished he could just sit still and not react to Mello's game, he wished his nerves would stop jumping. 

"How much do you remember before Whammy's House?" 

"Nothing." 

Mello didn't believe him, but decided to let it go and not risk triggering his troublesome conscience. His hands began to move again, determined to find the most sensitive spots on this baby-like skin. He couldn't help but marvel at how small Near was, as easy to enclose and contain as the doll he resembled. He would force emotion out of the doll without shattering him, somehow. 

"I want you to feel good, too. Tell me where my hands feel good." Saliva and fingertips coaxed the pale nipples erect again, but flicking at them only made Near squirm in protest. Rubbing his flat little stomach likewise provoked no response. "Okay, how about here?" 

Mello pressed lips and tongue to a bare, fragile shoulder and worked back to the elegant curve of neck. Near showed a dislike of being made wet, that was all. The blond nuzzled the delicate shell of Near's left ear, bit lightly at the lobe, then kissed at the tiny patch of skin behind it. The faintest shudder went through Near immediately, and for the briefest moment, the hunched and hard muscles of his back relaxed. Mello's approving "mmm" sound told Near he had been caught, but he did his best to repress the barely audible squeaks that were coming out. 

Mello's mouth was practically burrowing into him, pressed against that traitorous spot and biting with lips only. "Good, good," he said, and his hand and the white underwear returned to the softness between the child's legs. "Breathe deeper, just let it happen and it'll happen..." 

_No!_ Near didn't dare say it for fear of what Mello might do if angered, but it rang through his brain, and streams of words and numbers that swirled in complex, interlocking patterns. What control he had over his perplexing body, he would keep. That burst of tingling nerves Mello had found behind his ear was worrisome, but it wouldn't work with the hand that was touching him down there. Mind over matter, the mind shapes reality as one perceives it, therefore with proper concentration and discipline...but Mello's dry lips continued to nudge his ear, and Near's flaccid penis twitched just slightly. 

Mello blew a long stream of air through his pursed lips. Near wondered without much hope if he was giving up, but no such luck. 

"You give me no choice. Looks like we're moving on sooner than I expected. C'mon, let's get you...right there. Good." Mello had dragged a nearby rug up next to the wide puzzle space, and maneuvered Near down onto it on his back. 

The boy's breathing went rapid and shallow again as he was laid out and observed like a feast for Mello's hungry eyes. Legs parted, with Mello between his knees, pushing them further apart and up a little. It felt like a sacrificial position, like he was an unlucky Mayan whose spilled blood was called for to nourish the sun. Blond Mello hovered over him, smiled as he brought his face close to Near's and let his sun-hair fall upon the child made of moonlight. 

"Have you been kissed? Don't bother lying." 

He didn't, there was no need. Turning his head did no good either, Mello grasped his chin and forced it back, and what followed was a struggle of will and brute strength. In the latter, Near had no chance, and he dared not bite the tongue that took its time gaining entrance. This kissing was a sloppy act, and while held in place he couldn't avoid taking part. His tongue was swept up by the probing of the slick invader, the grunts of refusal he made swallowed. 

Why did people like doing this with each other? It was just another way for Mello to dominate him, it was no different than the times that Mello played with his hair and couldn't be slapped away, or put his hands under Near's shirt and let them roam...but this was more personal. Everything today dug into him deeper. 

Finally Mello released his mouth and sat back. Trying to catch his breath without losing composure, Near turned his head to look at the half-finished puzzle and began to grasp at the pieces, one at a time. His slender white fingers trembled, moved with less than their usual speed and dexterity, but still he snatched up the loose pieces and fit them into place. Hardly a pause, hardly more than a sweep of his eyes over the puzzle, and he put them into place. 

Mello felt his face grow hot, a fire behind his eyes that was always kindled by Near's superiority. He was in charge here, in this at least he would not be beaten. The tube of gel was in his hidden pocket, kept on him because you never know when a liaison might occur, and Mello was angry as he retrieved it and spread the chocolate-scented stuff over a few fingers. Lucky he remembered his promise not to hurt, or the entry of the first would have been faster and Near might have screamed rather than whimper with surprise and discomfort. Instinctively he tried to move, hoist himself up and off, but a hand gripping his hip served as both restraint and warning. 

And he had tensed. God, he was tight enough already, but the panic had contracted his muscles so that Mello's finger was actually drawn slightly further. Near's eyes were squeezed shut, and his hand hovered just over the puzzle mess and froze there, shaking against the pieces and making them chatter like teeth. 

"You need to relax, or it'll hurt." 

"Stop," Near whispered, and his voice sounded so _young_. " _Please_ , Mello." 

"I'll make it better, but you need to try," Mello said patiently, digging his finger deeper and around, watching Near's face closely for the winces of pain to become something else. 

There it was, that was the spot. Near's whole body jerked when he touched it, but it was a few seconds of careful rubbing before the pressure around Mello's finger began to loosen. He added another finger to double the power of the assault, and Near made some urgent, not-exactly-hurt sounds, but his eyes remained closed, and his expression showed nothing but confusion. Mello roughly edged closer to Near, his kneeling legs shoving the boy's higher and opening him a little wider. Slowly and against his will, Near was relaxing, going limp under the weight of forced pleasure and the horror of this. 

"C'mon, get hard," Mello murmured. "It'll make this so much better." 

Mello's free hand had returned to its earlier work, with very little success. By the time he had gotten Near to begin to stiffen, three slick fingers were inside him, stretching and plundering. With no warning, the blond put his hands beneath Near's knees and pushed them up still further, and moved into position to unfasten his pants and lubricate himself. Trembling and looking lost, Near had continued to work on his puzzle as though finishing it would allow him to escape all this, and focusing on the increasingly-larger white rectangle had kept his focus on something other than this molestation. 

But when he felt Mello press against his bare bottom, Near cried out, and one of the last pieces fell from his fingers. Mello felt bad for him - he was, after all, awfully young and innocent to be taken this way, especially for his first time - but there was no way he could hold back. Mello knew he would go mad if he didn't have Near, _now_. He felt so sweet and clean and pink inside, and soft like every other part of him was. The child's eyes were open now, staring up with pleading and terror, but Mello only felt his usual fascination for them. He had never been able to properly identify the color of Near's eyes, only that they were shining and wet. Flooded, now. 

"It'll be over sooner and hurt a lot less if you relax. I promise." 

Spreading the pale cheeks as best he could, Mello carefully eased the head of his erection inside, slowly so he wouldn't tear anything. God, so exquisitely tight. Sex was the only thing better than chocolate, chocolate didn't give him this dizzying sense of power and delicious ache in his groin. It almost hurt to be inside Near, but as he slowly slid further, Mello realized that logical little Near was trying to relax as he'd been ordered. His eyes were squeezed shut, his baby-doll face screwed up in concentration, he was whispering something so softly and rapidly that Mello had to strain to hear. 

"Ichi, ni, san, go, hachi, juusan, nijuu ichi, sanjuu yon..." 

The Fibonacci sequence. Math, one of the many 

_Every_

subjects Near was better in. Fire burned behind Mello's eyes again and made him grit his teeth. How stupid could the little genius be, provoking him at a time like this? Mello pushed the last couple inches in in one thrust, drawing a sob of pain. Either Near had gotten the message or lost count, because he immediately switched to reciting the elements of the periodic table in alphabetical order. Near had always beaten him in science too. Mello grabbed one of the slender white wrists and slammed it roughly down beside Near's head, holding it to the floor. 

"Stop trying to win," the blond hissed, his eyes flashing with a dangerous glint of insanity. "You win everything, but not this, not here." 

Languages next - Near repeated verbatim the first lesson of their Intermediate French textbook until his other wrist was pinned in warning. By now, Mello had begun to thrust, and he did so very slowly, fighting the impulse to think only of his own pleasure and rip the infuriating child open. Near could already speak every language that was heard at the vastly multicultural Whammy's House, while Mello was fluent only in Japanese and his native Russian, with a fair command of English and a few others. 

Near must have realized that all these attempts at distracting himself were only annoying Mello further. He went quiet awhile, save for whimpers of pain and not-pain, which one could hardly call pleasure since Near clearly took no solace from it. Mello checked and was startled but not surprised by the blood dripping onto the old rug, and feeling a twinge of remorse, he leaned back over Near and kissed the few tears that he could find on the pale cheeks, nuzzled his face against the pulse that raced in Near's neck and the white locks that were as fine as a baby's. Mello stimulated that sensitive spot behind the boy's ear, and worked his way a little lower, intending to taste Near's stubborn little mouth once more. 

He found that Near's lips had begun to move again on their own, whispering in his first tongue, English. Mello was able to follow just enough to realize the boy was reciting a poem, in a perfect cadence broken only by the jolts of Mello's thrusts. 

"'Undress with small, cold fingers and put out the light,   
And be alone, hush'd mortal, in the sacred night,   
A meadow whipt flat with the rain, a cup   
Emptied and clean, a garment washed and folded up,   
Faded in colour, thinned almost to raggedness   
By dirt and by the washing of that dirtiness.   
Be not too quickly warm again. Lie cold; consent   
To weariness' and pardon's watery element...'" 

Mello took a moment to wonder where Near had picked up something as sentimental as poetry, but no longer than that. He was close, so close to the peak, and rode it like a cresting wave with a cry of satisfaction. Once he finished spurting into the abused darkness, Mello sat back on his ankles to catch his breath and wait for strength to return to his limbs. 

Only after about a minute did he think to look at Near. One of his arms lay on the floor where Mello had pinned it, with faint but visible bruising all around the wrist. Near's head was turned to the right, cheeks wet but eyes open and fixed with determination. The soft fingers of his other hand held the penultimate piece of the puzzle and were stretching toward the correct vacant spot. 

Mello thought briefly of snatching it away, but as his exhilaration faded he noted more soberly that he had already beaten Near, and could afford to be magnanimous. The blond eased himself out carefully, trying to objectively analyze the amount of blood on his penis, the rug, still slowly trickling out of Near to dot Mello's fingers. Not enough to be harmful. No lasting damage. If Mello hadn't been so smart he might've been able to believe that, but he felt strangely numb about it all, and unable to regret. 

Near shivered and made a gasping sound as Mello pulled out, wincing but not looking up, only whimpering as he was half lifted, half dragged until he was practically on top of the puzzle. Close enough to fit in the piece he held, and he did so with a sigh of faint relief. 

"Mello..." The voice was halting, as though it hadn't been used in years. "Please..." 

Mello understood. Typical of Near, he had just been raped and all he cared about was his stupid puzzle. Mello fished the stolen piece from his pocket, to return it as promised, but now that it was smeared with come and blood, he wondered if Near would really want to touch it. 

"I'll put it in for ya," the blond said, as a friend might. "Here, show me where it goes," he added, though of course there was only one space left. 

He carefully turned Near onto his side to face the game, and Near protectively curled his legs up in a half-fetal position. No need, Mello had no intention of taking him again, at least not yet. He fitted the puzzle piece into the spot that Near weakly indicated, and afterward took hold of the child's hand and made it move over the smooth expanse of the completed rectangle. He thought Near might be calmed now that it was finished, but without warning, the boy started to shift in alarm and even made an attempt to drag himself away. 

Odd enough for Near to react to anything at all...it seemed unlikely that what had been done to him was just affecting him now. Mello grabbed Near's legs to keep him from getting away, and when he pulled them straight, there was the answer. An erection (smaller than his own, Mello noted gleefully) was pointing unwillingly out from the hairless smoothness between the boy's clasped legs. Here was the chocolate icing on the cake of his triumph, just when Mello had given up hope that Near had anything in common with other teenaged boys. 

"Very good," Mello said approvingly. "Better late than never." 

Despite the pain he must have been in, Near was fast, and Mello had to grab his wrists and pin them above his head to keep him in place. Making the same panicked, closed-mouth screams as before, the boy tried to curl up tighter and squeezed his legs protectively together. Kicking did no good from this position as Mello's hand, rougher than Near's and stronger, moved over the soft white skin of his thighs, at last yanking them apart and reaching between. 

"Mello, please!" Near cried, and the fact that he'd nearly shouted almost shocked Mello into letting go. 

"This part doesn't hurt at all, I swear. Damn it, you need to learn this anyway, it feels good. Just stay still and breathe." 

Mello's earlier question was now answered - Near had definitely never experienced this before. He seemed confused by what the hand that cupped him was doing, and his little body continually jerked and spasmed at the new sensations he was apparently so sensitive to. Mello felt a vicious thrill at being the first to triumph over Near, the first to undo him like this and make the cold doll into a real boy who was subject to human pains and pleasures. And the sight of him restrained and nude like this, white and silver like a sliver of moonlight cast on the floor, was breathtaking. With those baggy clothes off, Near wasn't merely pretty, he was exquisite. 

"Doesn't that feel good?" It had to, it was basic anatomy, and Near's breathing had sped up, but tears were rolling down his cheeks again. 

Yet, for just a moment, the eyes regained their usual large-pupiled intensity and chill. "Mello," the child gasped, voice shaking with fear or outrage, "will this...make us even?" 

No, it wouldn't, nothing would. Near would always be smarter and more level-headed and better. Near would succeed L, all anyone talked about was how alike they were; they even looked alike, fueling rumors that they were somehow related. Near would be the next L, even if it could never mean as much to him as it would to Mello. And Mello? He knew Near would never divulge what had been done to him, but Roger could find out anyway, or Watari, or sharp-eyed Matt who was always telling Mello he should just leave the kid alone. 

Even if Mello was only fifteen, raping a thirteen-year-old was a serious crime. Damn it, no one knew, no one would ever realize, what an infuriating creature Near was, and Mello had only reinforced the innocent-child mask by making him a victim. No, they would never be even. The best they could hope for was a life-long battle, and Near didn't play games like that. Not with people. 

"No," Mello said forcefully, speeding up his strokes and hoping the louder string of urgent whimpers would clear his aching head. 

"Then...why?" 

_Because I can't think of anything but you. You're everything._

"Because you're nothing," Mello hissed. "I don't care how fucking smart you are, you're a freak. A pretty toy for me to play with. You'll be the next L, you'll take that from me, so I'm gonna take whatever I want from _you_." 

Near's upper body lurched forward, like he was going to vomit, but instead he was finally shouting, crying out in fear of the unfamiliar intensity. Maybe feeling like he was plunging off the edge of a cliff, as Mello had his first time. Mello had aimed him so that not only his own fingers, but the puzzle too, were now sticky with globs and tiny puddles of semen. He released the bruised wrists, but no effort was made to move them. Near's head fell in exhaustion to his outstretched arm, and he turned his face toward the floor, breathing raspily through parted pink lips. 

As was typical of Mello's temperament, now that he was sated he felt much more companionable. An uneasy smile formed beneath his pin-prick blue eyes, and he ran his fingers gently over a bruise on Near's hip, careful not to press it. 

"We made a mess. How 'bout I go draw you a bath?" 

Near's eyes were open and clear, blinking in a fixed and normal rhythm, though what he was looking at, Mello couldn't tell. One of the boy's small hands inched timidly from above his head, turned palm-down, and grasped at the smooth surface of the puzzle marred by splashes of milky white and blood red. Unperturbed, Mello placed a gentle kiss on Near's temple and stood up, refastening his pants as he did so. 

"I'll be right back. I'll get some stuff and clean you up, so stay right there." 

With one ear to the floor, Near was able to hear and count Mello's calm footsteps as they exited the room and grew softer and softer with distance. In his mind, even through the shock of minutes before, the boy was able to view a floor-by-floor plan of the vast Whammy's House estate, and trace Mello's route to the infirmary that would be empty this time of night. Near could see the elder boy's progress and location as exactly as a person following him would, and he lay still until Mello was more than halfway down the stairs at the end of the corridor. 

Then, and only then, the pale child put pressure on his hand, then forearm, then elbow, and gingerly propped himself up a little bit off the floor. Absently he took note of the bruising Mello had left on his wrists, hips and thighs, and winced just slightly at the stinging pain inside. So this is what it was to feel literally torn. He couldn't analyze the feeling properly through the hurt of it, and this made the boy recall a line from another poem he had once seen. Pain has an element of blank. Blank was a word people sometimes ascribed to Near's doll-like face and unchanging expression, but now it seemed to have penetrated to the inside too. 

No use trying to run or hide - Near knew he couldn't stand unassisted, and he wasn't about to anger Mello again. But he felt compelled to draw himself up at least to an almost-sitting position, braced by his arms and biting back a groan as he kept pressure off his backside. Worse than the pain there was the feeling of dirtiness. Near was fussy about keeping very clean, and so carefully kept his eyes averted from the sticky mess on his thighs and the back of his legs. 

And the puzzle, the pristine white surface. His hands clutched at it for comfort and felt the grotesque stains upon it soil his palms and fingers. Trying to wipe it clean only smeared it further, destroyed even more of its purity. Near saw now, with a numb frown, that he could no longer see his reflection in it. This was a small mercy. 

_Note: Poem quoted from by Near is "After Prayers, Lie Cold" by C.S. Lewis. Other poem referred to in passing is by Emily Dickinson, who annoyingly did not title her works. This work in no way endorses child abuse of any kind, it is purely the fiction of a disturbed mind. I do not own Death Note or any of its characters, though I am acquainted with a few of them, and Gaia help me if they ever see this..._


End file.
